


On the Beat

by paperscribe



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe/pseuds/paperscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A historical AU in which Lewis and Hathaway are street policemen in 1919 Oxford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

After he'd retired, Lewis had never thought he'd be a police officer again. But, of course, the War had changed everything. The young men who would normally be part of the police force were enlisting and fighting abroad, and Lewis noticed how many fewer constables there were patrolling the streets.

When they approached him to return, Lewis knew they must be desperate. So, reluctantly, he agreed, hoping for the end of the war to bring back the young men who would ordinarily have his job.

Except many of the young men didn't come back. Even a new law instituting raises in pay didn't bring in the number of new constables it should have. Added to that was the problem of training new constables. As it turned out, giving a constable the brief, perfunctory sort of training Lewis had when he'd entered policing wasn't exactly the best way to prepare him for walking a beat alone. (Lewis could have told anyone as much; he'd had a lot of practical knowledge yet to be acquired when he'd first been told to walk a beat on his own.) So a new system was being tested in which more experienced police walked a beat with newer recruits, sharing their expertise and assisting where they could. Lewis's assigned partner was one PC James Hathaway.

He caught his first sight of the lanky blond slouching against the outside wall of the nick, smoking a cigarette. His guess that this was his new partner was confirmed when the blond saw him, stood hurriedly, and threw his cigarette away. "Sir."

"You won't want to do that in uniform from now on," Lewis told the lad. "You could be dismissed for it."

"Sorry, sir," Hathaway said, unconsciously standing at parade rest.

That told Lewis something, and he gestured for Hathaway to walk with him as he kept on with their conversation. The beat he and Hathaway had been assigned to was a relatively uneventful one during the day, which meant they could chat without neglecting their duties. "In the army, were you?"

Hathaway nodded slightly. "At the Somme."

Lewis knew about the Somme. Everybody did. "Christ."

"No, it…not three years ago," Hathaway said. "Don't think I'd be here if I had been. We were there later. Last year."

Lewis nodded. "Enlisted?"

"Conscripted," Hathaway said. "They needed chaplains in the Army, so…"

"You don't look old enough to be a…what were you, a deacon? Or maybe a curate?" Lewis asked.

Hathaway spoke the next words reluctantly. "Priest, actually."

Lewis raised his eyebrows. "Catholic?"

Hathaway nodded, voice stiff and formal as he asked, "Will that be a problem, sir?"

Lewis shook his head. "Not to me. And I'll make it my business if it is for anyone else."

Hathaway relaxed marginally. "Thank you, sir."

"You're not still a priest?" Lewis asked. He went to church as often as the next bloke, but he had no idea how Catholicism worked.

Hathaway seemed slightly amused by the question. "No, sir."

"You don't have to 'sir' me all the time," Lewis said. "I know it's probably an army thing and you can't help it, but…I won't mind if you don't say it." He paused. "Priest to policeman. That's not the usual thing, is it?"

"I wouldn't know, sir," Hathaway said, tensing again. Clearly he didn't want to talk about it.

"All right," Lewis said. He changed the subject. "Have you got family in Oxford?"

Hathaway shook his head. "No. Do you?"

At least he'd stopped calling Lewis 'sir' for now. "Aye, I've got a wife and two…" No. Not two. "A wife and daughter."

He could feel Hathaway looking at him. "You had a son."

"Died at Ypres," Lewis said.

Hathaway bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry."

Lewis shrugged. "There's others lost more than me."

Hathaway nodded silently.

"So," Lewis said. "What's the training like for constables these days? Hopefully better than mine was."

Hathaway shrugged. "Some classes. Drill. Observing the courts, as you would've done. There's a choice of physical training that may not have occurred when you came through--gymnastics, boxing, or jiu-jitsu."

Lewis pulled a face. "Gymnastics? What's that meant to do? Teach you to do calisthenics at the criminals?" He knew there actually were useful gymnastic skills--rope-climbing and running, for example--but if you were fit enough, you didn't have to have training to be able to do those things. "You'll have done boxing." If he had any sense.

"Jiu-jitsu, actually," Hathaway said. "It's the art of using an opponent's energy against him for the purpose of self-defence. In the right circumstances, you can disarm an armed man and render him harmless with a bit of grappling and a well-placed joint lock."

"Sounds a bit iffy to me," Lewis said.

"Perhaps I'll have the chance to demonstrate its use for you at some point, sir," Hathaway said.

"Maybe," Lewis said. Long as Hathaway wasn't demonstrating on him. Lewis thought boxing was a more straightforward form of self-defence; you knew what to expect and you could either hit a man or you couldn't. None of this 'using someone else's energy' nonsense.

Hathaway patted his pocket. "And I've got my instruction book with me."

"You can throw that in the nearest bin," Lewis said. "If you encounter a situation on the street, there's no time to take out your little book and work out which chapter it's in."

"Still," Hathaway said.

Lewis resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Suppose you're right. Best to have it with you." He'd learn how 'useful' it was soon enough. "You seem like an observant bloke."

"I hope so," Hathaway said.

"Good, because you'll need to be, especially on a night beat. You've got to go round all the businesses along the way, checking the doors to make sure they're locked. The last man on this beat was a disaster."

Hathaway looked interested. "Why? What did he do?"

"Didn't check the locks," Lewis said. "Didn't notice the same place was unlocked at night for a week, and then the last night, didn't notice the place had been robbed!"

Hathaway winced. "I hope I'd never do that."

"Don't think you will, now I've warned you about it," Lewis said. He had the feeling Hathaway wasn't the sort of man you had to tell more than once about something. 

"Sir!" Hathaway took hold of Lewis's arm, holding him back as a motorcar went roaring by. Lewis muttered invective under his breath. "Are you all right?"

"I hate those bloody things," Lewis said. "And they frighten the horses, which makes more work for us. I don't see why anyone would choose to drive noisy, dirty machines like that."

"I suppose motorcars don't get tired," Hathaway said, trying to be helpful.

Lewis shook his head. "Whatever you do, don't ever volunteer for traffic duties if you can help it. Quickest way to get yourself knocked down by one of those things."

"I'll remember," Hathaway said.

"You'll have been told that you need to make your points on time," Lewis said, "but sometimes if you've got to assist someone, it'll make you late. Lucky for us, the Chief Constable started as a beat constable, so he's pretty understanding long as you're late for a good reason."

Hathaway nodded.

Lewis decided he'd been lecturing long enough. "How do you find the dormitories?"

Hathaway shrugged. "A bit like the seminary really. Only louder."

Lewis chuckled. "I expect so." He glanced at Hathaway. "So…having been a priest and all…marriage isn't really…"

"No," Hathaway said with a tone of finality.

Lewis nodded. He'd thought not. "The missus'll want to meet you. You should come to dinner some night."

"Are you sure that's within the rules?" Hathaway asked, sounding worried.

This lad was going to be consulting his instruction book every time he had to piss, wasn't he? Ah, well. Lewis would do what he could to stem those impulses. "Perfectly within the rules. Long as you don't get drunk after and wander off shouting that you're Charlie Chaplin, and could somebody please find your moustache?"

Hathaway snorted with laughter. "I can almost promise I won't do that." A pause. "Is that something that actually happened?"

"No," Lewis said. After a moment's silence, he added, "He said he was Ivor Novello, and where was his songwriting pencil."

Hathaway's surprised laughter made Lewis grin. This might be all right, having a partner.


	2. Taking Care

When Hathaway met Lewis at the starting point of their beat, Lewis couldn't help noticing how awful Hathaway looked. He was pale, with a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and dark shadows beneath his eyes.

"You look awful," Lewis said bluntly.

"Thank you, sir," Hathaway said wryly. He then ruined the effects of his sarcasm by bending forward and coughing for nearly a full minute. His cough was dry and ugly-sounding.

"You all right?" Lewis asked, alarmed.

"Fine," Hathaway said, trying unsuccessfully to stifle another cough.

"You should be in bed," Lewis said.

"I'm fine."

"I won't have me partner dying of consumption."

"I'm fine," Hathaway said, more brusquely this time. "Let's go rescue some cats."

A little girl had stopped them in the street a few days ago, begging them to help her cat. Hathaway had given Lewis a boost into the tree, where Lewis had successfully coaxed the cat down. The little girl had been very grateful.

Lewis sighed. "You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"But, sir!" Hathaway's voice brightened with mock-adoration. "It was so _brave_ of you to climb that tree."

"Yeah, yeah," Lewis grumbled.

He was still worried about that cough though.

***

"Lad?"

That was Sergeant Lewis. James tried to open his eyes, but they were so heavy. "Sir?" He coughed violently. His throat hurt. His lungs hurt. Everything hurt.

He heard Lewis approach his bed. "You're in no state to work today."

"Wait, sir," James said weakly. "Give me a few minutes. I'll be better."

He felt Lewis's hand on his arm. "No, lad. You rest. I'll send someone to see to you while I'm patrolling. I can manage on me own till you're well again."

James nodded reluctantly, another bout of coughing stopping him saying anything else.

"You take care, Jim." There was a gruff tenderness in Lewis's voice.

Time passed. James had no idea how much. He coughed and sweated and felt hot and cold and very weak. He tried standing once, but he'd barely made it to sitting before he had to lie down again. Luckily, he kept a chamber pot beneath the bed for emergencies, so he didn't have to go anywhere.

He heard the door open, and then there was a cool hand against his forehead. In James's feverish state, the touch was at once unexpected and wholly familiar. James felt tears prickle in his eyes.

"Mummy?" he whispered.

He heard the sound of caught breath, and then he felt a kiss on his brow as the gentle hand smoothed back his hair from his face.

"Don't fret, sweet boy," she whispered. "I'll look after you now."

James knew there was a reason his mum shouldn't be here, though he couldn't think what it was. He was glad she'd come, though. "All right," he whispered, allowing himself to relax.

***

Hathaway…Jim…was sleeping when Lewis came back. Val sat in a chair beside the bed. Lewis crossed to her, hand finding her shoulder.

"You should rest," he said.

"I want to be here if he needs me," Val said.

"He eat anything?"

"A little soup. Not as much as I'd like. But I got some tea inside him at least."

"And the fever?" 

"Still bad."

He squeezed her shoulder sympathetically. "I can stay here while you get some sleep."

"Do what you like. I'm not leaving him." Her tone of voice was fervent. Lewis nodded, wondering what had happened for her to latch on to Jim so quickly.

Val turned to look at him, and her eyes glistened with tears. "He called me Mummy."

Lewis felt a rush of sympathy and shared pain, and he stooped down to put his arms around her. "I should've known. Once a mum, always a mum."

"If he'd called you his father, you'd do the same," Val said quietly.

Lewis suspected that was true. "I'll see if I can get an extra bed in here, so you can stay close by and still get some rest."

Val looked at him gratefully, but her gratitude turned to regret. "I haven't left you anything for dinner at home. I'm sorry."

Lewis smiled. "I can manage on bread and cheese a few days. Don't forget to eat if you're going to stay here. Can't have you falling ill."

"Don't worry," Val said. "How many times did I nurse the children?"

Lewis nodded, throat tightening at the thought. Every time the bairns had been ill, he'd been so afraid they would lose them. In the end, with Mark, it hadn't been illness to take him after all.

"You take care of our Jim," Lewis said quietly. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Val smiled. "Goodnight, Robbie."

The door was closed, and Jim was asleep, so Lewis felt comfortable giving his wife a kiss before he went. "Goodnight, hinny."

*** 

The first thing James noticed when he woke was that he was soaking wet. The second thing was that someone had wedged a second bed into the room, and that someone was on it.

"Hello?" James croaked, and almost immediately, he began coughing, a nasty wet cough that nevertheless meant he was on the mend.

The person on the bed sat up. "Would you like some water?"

James squinted into the darkness, trying to make out who was there, irrationally and completely sure it was his mother. "Mum?"

The woman flicked on the light, and James felt a pang of disappointment when he saw it wasn't his mother. Although, of course…it couldn't have been. 

"Sorry, love. I am a mum, but not yours." She offered him a glass of water. "Try a few sips."

James did.

"We haven't been properly introduced," the woman said, "but I'm Val, Sergeant Lewis's wife."

"Mrs Lewis," James said, trying to collect himself enough to be polite. "Pleased to meet you. I'm James Hathaway."

"I know, Jim," Mrs Lewis said, sounding amused. "Who do you think sent me?"

James blinked. "Sent you? How long have I been…"

"A few days," Mrs Lewis said. 

"Have you been here all that time?" James asked.

Mrs Lewis nodded. "Robbie stops by every night to see how you are. He'll be pleased to see you chatty like this."

'Chatty' was not a word James had ever used to describe himself before, or had ever heard used to describe him. "Thank you. For taking care of me."

Mrs Lewis set down the glass of water and turned away from him. "It was nice to be a mother again."

If James hadn't been ill and weak and a bit emotional, he'd never have said anything in response to that. But he was. So he did.

"It was nice to have a mother again," he said quietly.

Mrs Lewis turned to him, a gentle, understanding expression on her face. "Well. You just come for a visit any time you need mothering."

James smiled at her. "Thank you."

There was a knock on the door, and then Sergeant Lewis leaned into the room. "Thought I'd see if there was any…" He noticed that James was sitting up and alert, and then the most enormous smile James had ever seen graced Lewis's face. "Jim!" He took a few hurried steps into the room, as if to rush over and hug James…and then he realised what he was doing and stopped, clearing his throat and squaring his shoulders. "Good to see you."

But James wasn't fooled. For a minute, the gruff copper had dropped away, and Lewis had just been…a friend. Someone who cared about James. And James knew he would remember that moment of emotion from Lewis all his life.

"Good to see you too, sir," James said. He coughed for a moment.

"Still sounds like you need some rest," Lewis said. "But at least you're awake. You've always been asleep before."

He'd been worried. About James. James had to fight to keep the smile from his face. "I can't really remember, sir, but I'm awake now. And Mrs Lewis has been very kind."

Mrs Lewis smiled. "You men are all alike. No idea how to take care of yourselves."

"True," Lewis agreed cheerfully. He reached into his pocket. "Since you're awake."

James took the parcel wrapped in brown paper, carefully unwrapping it to find _The Age of Innocence_ by Edith Wharton. He looked at Lewis, incredulous. "You bought me something to read?"

"I know you like books," Lewis said. "Hope that one's all right. It was either that or _Tarzan the Untamed_ , and I didn't reckon you were a Tarzan man."

"No, not much," James admitted, caressing the dust jacket with his fingertips. "This is wonderful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. It might not be any good," Lewis said.

"I've read _The House of Mirth_ by the same author, and that was good," James said.

Lewis looked pleased. "Oh! You like her then!"

"I do," James said.

"Before you're tired out with all his fussing, James, I'm going to make you something to eat," Mrs Lewis said. "What would you like?"

James had no idea what was on offer. "Anything you'd like to make for me, Mrs Lewis. Thank you."

"So polite," Mrs Lewis said approvingly. She poked Lewis lightly in the arm. "I'll make some for you as well."

"I've been wasting away without your cooking," Lewis said, giving her an affectionate grin.

James felt an uncharacteristic warmth and lightness at the thought of…well, everything…the sight of the Lewises arguing affectionately, and Mrs Lewis taking care of him while he was ill and making him soup, and Lewis being so happy to see him well again and bringing him a book. 

James decided this must be what home felt like.


End file.
